


Alive and Here

by littlegreyfish



Series: Profound Drabbles [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Purgatory, Season gr8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlegreyfish/pseuds/littlegreyfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dean.” I always answer, I always let myself indulge. From the corner of my eye I see him. I know he’s not real. He never is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive and Here

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Supernatural or the characters and places within. I just write about them.

“Cas!”  
  
The word rang out loudly, like it always did. It didn’t have the same inflection, the same tone, but it was undoubtedly Dean. His prayers lately have been less angry, more... sad. Fervent. Fitful. I know he’s searching for me, but I have to stay away. I can’t. I can’t let them get to him. He has to stay safe.  
  
“Dean.” I always answer, I always let myself indulge. From the corner of my eye I see him. I know he’s not real. He never is. It looks like there is someone with him, but it could just be another hallucination. He doesn’t seem dangerous. He’s not attacking me. They never wait. They always strike at first sight. They’re brutes. Purgatory is pure, but it also brings the monsters back to their basics.  
  
I look away from the figures climbing down the slope. They shouldn’t be here. It has been a while since I’ve seen Dean while he prayed. It’s also been a while since I’ve had to run from one of the many dark monsters that haunt this damned place. Perhaps the solitude is bringing me back to the brink of my insanity. Dean, why are you here? Why do you still pray? This just makes it harder to protect you like this. But as his footsteps get closer I can’t help myself. I never can. I rise and turn to look at him, scanning the stream for signs of threat before indulging in the vision.  
  
“Cas.” He says it once more, and I can’t place his tone. He sounds relieved? But why? Almost... happy. He’s close. So close. I can smell him. That is new, but insanity was never consistent. He smells. He smells like Dean. With an added layer of dirt, but Dean is under there, a mixture of whiskey and old leather. And something warm.  
  
And then... and then he laughs.  
  
And he hugs me.  
  
He says...  
  
He says “Damn, it’s good to see you.” (Which he’s never said seriously to me before, so at first I’m not sure if it’s real or not, or if my mind is starting to warp my thoughts in more horrid ways.. The words twist my gut in a way I’m not familiar.)  
  
No.  
  
This.  
  
What is this?  
  
I’ve never been able to touch him before.  
  
I’ve tried. The first times I saw him. And I wasn’t sure if he was real or an hallucination. Always went right through.  
  
But this.  
  
This is real.  
  
This is _Dean_.  
  
Before I can think to wrap my arms around him, he’s pulled away, and his absence is cold.  
  
There’s a quick touch of his hand to my jaw and I barely register the comment (‘Nice peach fuzz,’) because the brush of his fingers is like a shock. (I stumble out a ‘thank you’ in an almost automatic response because my mind is still racing and my blood is pumping and that brush of his fingers can still be felt on my dirty, undeserving skin.) It’s the anchor to the realization that has taken root. Dean is here. He is _real_. He is alive and here.


End file.
